


An Baile Eile (The Other Home)

by Morninglight (orphan_account)



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Accidental Pregnancy, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anonymous Sex, Bars and Pubs, Blow Jobs, F/M, Gealbhan takes a level in bitchiness, Hate Sex, Irish Language, Maxson is an asshole at times, One Night Stands, Possessive Behavior, Right Hook to the Jaw, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Whiskey & Scotch, slightly rough sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-16 03:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7250755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Morninglight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Maxson and Gealbhan Killian hate each other. It's a widely known fact. She also runs An Baile Eile, the Brotherhood of Steel's favourite pub and distillery, which means the Elder is forced to tolerate her presence. She, of course, thinks he's an insufferable ass but his men are her best customers.</p><p>So there's no actual way they'd spend a little anonymous quality time together in the darkest corner of her pub. Right?</p><p>Wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Something light and cheerful. Trigger warning for fantastic racism and mentions of alcohol and drug use. AU Arthur/Sparrow smut. (Gealbhan is Irish for 'Sparrow). Enjoy!

Elder Arthur Maxson of the East Coast Brotherhood of Steel was livid. Someone had set up a still without his permission judging by the bottles of hard liquor being passed around the Prydwen’s mess hall, comments being made about its quality and likely source. From a whiff as a very drunk Knight Rhys went by, it was razorgrain whiskey, a staple of the Irish clans in the northern Capital Wasteland. Though he hadn’t encountered any of the known families in the Commonwealth, the region was infested with their traditions and even names, so there had to be some.

            Then Proctor Teagan let out a hearty belch, giving Arthur’s anger a target. Of course the alcohol would be provided by the most notorious drunk on the airship. “Proctor!” Arthur barked. “Would you care to explain where this _swill_ came from?”

            Teagan blinked owlishly at him. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘swill’,” he slurred. “Cait’s cousin sent us over a crate as a sample of what her new distillery produces.”

            “Killian!” Thankfully, Danse’s shattering baritone saved Arthur from having to call the Irish Knight over to him.

            The athletic redhead made her way through the crowd, grinning cheerfully. “About time ye two showed up. If there was a pair of men in more need of a drink in the Commonwealth, I’ve yet to meet them.”

            Arthur took a deep breath, reminding himself that a quiet voice conveyed anger and disappointment more effectively than a yell. “Your cousin brewed this?”

            “ _Distilled_ , Elder. Beer, ale and mead are brewed, whiskey, bourbon and rum are distilled,” Cait corrected fussily. “And aye, me cousin did. Ye remember the one who got pulled out of the Vault, right?”

            Danse sighed heavily. “How can a woman twelve generations removed be your cousin, Knight?”

            “Third cousin twelve generations removed,” Cait corrected again. “We compared our family lines till we hit a common relative.”

            The Paladin turned reluctantly to a fuming Arthur. “I assume you’ve heard about that cryo Vault which was found by the Minutemen north of Concord?”

            “Vault 111, yes,” Arthur replied through gritted teeth.

            “Well, there were a few survivors. One of them was an Irish clanswoman called Gealbhan. _Apparently_ she and Knight Killian here are related.”

            “That we are. And it’s taken her a couple years to adapt the old Killian recipes to what we have in the Commonwealth.” Cait smiled sunnily. “She’s gone and set up an Irish pub in East City Downs now we’ve cleared it for traders.”

            “And decided to corrupt the moral fibre of the Brotherhood by providing free alcohol,” Arthur said flatly.

            “Oh no, only the first batch is free as thank ye for giving her somewhere to set up.” Cait seemed oblivious to Arthur’s obvious anger. “Ye should have some. Might put a smile on that face of yers.”

            “I gave no permission for a distillery to be established at East City Downs,” Arthur rasped. “If your cousin seems to think having a relative in the Brotherhood allows her to circumvent the correct procedure for obtaining it, she is very wrong.”

            Cait rolled her green eyes. “Ye’re a grumpy bastard, Maxson. Not like ye don’t drink. Ye got more booze on the command deck than Gealbhan’s got in the pub.”

            “Given that the command deck is where I entertain visiting dignitaries, it makes sense to keep the alcohol which has passed the Brotherhood’s stringent tests there,” Arthur replied acidly. “If your cousin wants to sell alcohol to us, she can damn well ask for permission like everyone else.”

            Danse had been studying the crowd. “Elder, perhaps we could do an inspection? I have a feeling that the whiskey is _very_ popular with our soldiers and the Creator knows we could use somewhere for them to drink that’s in territory we control.”

            Maxson looked at the rowdy off-duty soldiers and scowled because, as always, his most trusted Paladin was right. “Very well. Find an escort of _sober_ Knights and a vertibird. I might as well perform this inspection now before this swill gets too popular.”

…

An Baile Eile. In Irish, it meant ‘The Other Home’. Seeing as Gealbhan’s old home was a radiated wreck and her family dead, this pub and distillery in the stands of East City Downs would have to do. It was impressive how much help a free bottle of moonshine, even the wretched stuff she’d distilled from _tatos_ , got in the Commonwealth. She hadn’t had to part with a single cap to get the building cleared when the traders found out she was going to set up a distillery.

            “Mum.” Dutiful as always, Codsworth puttered around in the cooking range she’d set up at the back of the pub’s common room. “I do believe there’s some Brotherhood officers here to see you.”

            Gealbhan smiled. Looked like she was about to get that order she’d planned for by sending the razorgrain whiskey up to the Prydwen.

            Her smile died when she emerged from the back to see a scowling blue-eyed man in brown leather regarding the common room like several radroaches lived, bred and died in it. That was insulting. She’d scavenged everything from old pubs and bars around the ruins of Boston, made certain to patch the holes in the wall, and provided a variety of seating options. Hell, soon she was going to be expanding the stands into an inn.

            At least her cousin’s sponsor Paladin Danse had the good grace to look uncomfortable. “Gealbhan, Elder Maxson wants to do an inspection of the distillery,” he said. “The Brotherhood of Steel has high standards for what’s served to the soldiers, so we want to make sure it’s up to scratch.”

            “We also have a process for permissions, which you circumvented,” the Elder rasped dourly.

            Gealbhan pasted a smile on her face like she once did with her mother’s Boston Brahmin friends. “Seeing as none of the traders were told this, Elder, you’ll have to pardon the crime.”

            “I wasn’t expecting someone to set up a moonshining facility so soon.”

            “No, that’s what my last place up in Sanctuary was. This is as proper a distillery as can be made in the Commonwealth.” She smiled sweetly at the Elder. “Shall we?”

            That scowl didn’t lessen one bit. “Very well.”

            She led him through the kitchen where Codsworth was turning radstag into something that smelt divine. “This is my Mr Handy, Codsworth,” she informed the Brotherhood duo. “He does the cooking because as a chef, I make a great moonshiner.”

            “Good to meet you, sirs!” the Mr Handy greeted cheerfully. “I’ve been in the Killian family for two hundred and twelve years!”

            “Having him still around kept me whole,” Gealbhan admitted softly.

            Maxson’s scowl deepened. “I’m not here for your life story.”

            “No, apparently you’re here to be an ass!” she snapped. “I’m ready to cooperate despite none of your soldiers making it aware I needed some kind of seal of approval. But apparently you’ve come in with some preconception that I’m a rad-addled moonshiner from the hills!”

            “No, you are apparently a pre-War Vault Dweller who would rather distil cheap moonshine than do something with all the knowledge you surely possess,” Maxson retorted.

            “Fuck you, Maxson. My razorgrain whiskey isn’t cheap.” Gealbhan gave him a poisonous smile. “I make the cheap moonshine from tatos.”

            Danse looked like he wanted to be elsewhere. Gealbhan hoped this wouldn’t affect Cait’s chances in the Brotherhood.

            “You are impertinent,” the Elder rasped. “I will see your distillery shut down.”

            Gealbhan arched her eyebrows. “Good luck finding the soldiers to do it. Your people don’t have anywhere to drink that isn’t under their commander’s eye. Surely you, reputed to be a mighty leader of men, know that they need somewhere they can blow off steam off-base.”

            Danse’s jaw tensed. “She has a point, Elder Maxson. It’s either here or the Third Rail in Goodneighbour.”

            Maxson scowled so darkly he looked like a midnight radstorm. “I am forced to concede it. The standard licencing fee in the Capital Wasteland is a hundred caps per month. I expect you to pay it. Not in your swill but in cold hard caps.”

            _Dammit, I’ll need to borrow from Stockton._ “Can I pay in advance? I have about three months right here.”

            “Very well.” Maxson gave her a filthy glare that was returned in kind. “I will be performing monthly inspections, Gealbhan Killian, and if so much as a single soldier gets sick from your alcohol, I will have you thrown out and put this business in the hands of the Brotherhood.”

            “Fine,” she countered. “Do you want to inspect the distillery or stand around and be an ass some more?”

            “I will look at your… operation.” It was said with a sneer.

            Gealbhan decided then and there she hated Arthur Maxson.

…

Arthur Maxson hated Gealbhan Killian.

            She was disrespectful, acid-tongued and completely unimpressed with his status as Elder. Her razorgrain whiskey was good, he had to admit, but she constantly made jabs at his dignity whenever he inspected her distillery. Some of them had come close to the bone and only his status as a Maxson stopped him from retorting in kind.

            An Baile Eile was ridiculously popular with his soldiers. Maxson didn’t go there out of principle. Unfortunately, Danse did and waxed eloquent about the quality of food and alcohol.

            Finally, Arthur cracked. He put it out that he wasn’t to be disturbed for the night and pulled on a standard Brotherhood uniform with shades to hide his eyes. Then he blended in with a group of off-duty soldiers and caught a vertibird to the Airport before making the short walk to East City Downs.

            The former race course had become an entertainment and shopping hub for the Brotherhood. Dog races were held where raiders had run robots, civilian traders peddled almost everything available in Diamond City or Bunker Hill, and there was even a place where you could dance to the music of a jukebox.

            Arthur walked into An Baile Eile, luridly proclaimed with its green writing, and found the pub packed. Gealbhan was nowhere to be seen, a bald man with sunglasses slinging drinks instead, and the air was thick with unwashed humanity, whiskey and Codsworth’s cooking.

            Twenty caps got him a shot of whiskey and a bowl of radstag stew with a generous slice of bread to soak up every last bit. He found a stool in the corner and sat down, watching his soldiers at their leisure. Much to his chagrin, they were having a good time.

            “Ahem.” A woman’s throaty voice interrupted his reverie and Arthur turned to bestow a baleful glare upon her. Which promptly faltered when he saw the tumble of reddish-brown hair that fell to the curve of small breasts beneath a floral cotton dress. “That’s my seat you’re in.”

            “It was empty when I arrived,” he said huskily, mouth dry with desire. She smelt like hubflower and carrot flower, the plants that Commonwealth Wastelanders mixed into a paste for bathing, and there was a sweet quirk to her coral-hued lips. How long had it been since he’d been this close to a woman that wasn’t one of his subordinates?

            The woman ah’ed. “I can stand. So, you come here often?”

            “First time here,” he admitted. _Don’t admit who you are. She’ll be overawed._

Arthur didn’t want this woman overawed. Actually, he wanted her on his lap, preferably with his cock in her as she rode him. The corner was dark and the anonymity aroused him more than it should.

            Her brown eyes flickered to his lap. “That a laser rifle in your pocket or are you happy to see me?” she chuckled richly.

            The Elder of the Brotherhood carefully put his empty plate on the table beside him. Then before she could react, he picked her up by the waist and placed her in his lap just as he wanted. “I’m happy to see you,” he murmured in her ear, “And a gentleman never makes a lady stand.”

            Her response was a wicked chuckle. Then her hips began to roll subtly, grinding her mound against his erection, and Arthur growled lustily. “Are you wearing panties?” he demanded in a harsh whisper.

            “No.” Her admission was accompanied by her wicked chuckle. “Are you?”

            “Of course not.” Arthur pulled her into a kiss as he rucked up her skirt. By necessity this needed to be hard and fast but he would never leave a woman unsatisfied.

            She tasted of whiskey and stew, moaning against his tongue as he plunged it into her mouth. His questing fingers found her clit, which was already sodden, and he chuckled harshly. “Like the idea of being fucked in the dark by a soldier?”

            “You’re the one with the erection,” she countered, gasping when he gently touched her clit. “I’m… ah!”

            Arthur mouthed the side of her neck as he rolled her clit between his fingers. “True. But I would like you ready.”

            “That big, are you?” she asked dryly.

            “No other woman has called me little,” he admitted with a smirk. Talking dirty with a strange woman in the corner of a packed pub, his fingers driving her towards an orgasm. The anonymity was doing strange things to him – and he was enjoying it.

            “I see humility isn’t a virtue of the Brotherhood,” she chuckled. Then she buried her face in his shoulder to stifle the cry as his fingers were drenched in her juices. So easily brought to climax.

            Arthur lasciviously licked his fingers clean after withdrawing them from between her legs and her brown eyes flared with heat. This was no virgin but a woman comfortable in her sexuality. It aroused him even more. “You mean ‘false humility’. I am very good at what I do.”

            He guided her hand to the buttons which opened the groin flap of a Brotherhood uniform. Stripping to take a piss in enemy territory was unacceptable but now, he could remain mostly clothed while enjoying himself with a desirable woman. Bless the Scribe who designed these uniforms.

            She curled her fingers – soft and only lightly callused – around his cock and he bucked into her touch impatiently. “May I?” he asked with formality entirely inappropriate to the situation he was in.

            She nodded. “You may.”

            Arthur lifted her once more and sheathed his cock in tight heat. He groaned in pleasure and slid his hands into her dress to play with her breasts. She laughed sensuously and began to roll her hips as she had before. It felt even better with him inside her.

            All good things had to come to an end, unfortunately, and her nails dug into his shoulders as she came. The pleasure-pain brought him over the edge and he spilt himself with a shuddering groan.

            He kissed the side of her neck and regretfully disentangled himself from her. This could only be a onetime thing; an Elder should have more discipline. “Thank you,” she whispered into his ear after worrying at the lobe with her teeth. “I needed that.”

            “As did I,” he agreed.

            She smoothed down her skirt with a smile and turned, twisting up her hair into a knot at the nape of the neck. It was then, to his absolute horror, that he realised that he’d just fucked Gealbhan Killian in the corner of her pub. And yet… there had been no recognition in her voice or eyes. Surely she would have made a big deal of the Elder who frowned upon her being in her establishment.

            Arthur tucked himself in and rebuttoned his fly. He would say nothing if she agreed to be discreet. No doubt she was as horrified as he.

           


	2. Clash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. I apologise in advance for spoiled, oblivious, douchebag Maxson. Trigger warning for violence.

Gealbhan wished she’d gotten that soldier’s name because holy shit, could he scratch the itch like none had in centuries. She still didn’t what possessed her to flirt with him but she was glad of the outcome.

            Until six weeks later, when a familiar mixture of nausea and exhaustion rolled through her body. Then she remembered that he’d come in her unprotected. Then she explored the outer reaches of her vocabulary in Irish Gaelic, Latin and rudimentary French.

            Of course, that should be the moment Arthur Maxson walked in to perform his monthly inspection of her pub. He regarded her flatly and walked through the common room to the distillery.

            “Yeah, sure, nice to see you too, asshole,” she muttered under her breath, stalking after him. When he found out she was pregnant to one of his precious soldiers, the uptight prick would explode. It would be almost worth the ensuing argument just to see the look on his face.

            “Did it ever occur to you that it may serve you well to be a little more respectful to me?” Maxson asked in his arrogant way, turning to look at her.

            “Did it ever occur to you that your ego is more bloated than the Prydwen’s balloon?” she retorted.

            “My soldiers provide for your living,” he countered.

            “Only because you drive them to drink.”

            He stepped in towards her, trying to use his greater height and weight to intimidate her. Well fuck him, she’d taken down bigger men in a fight if need be. “You are, without a doubt, the most disrespectful, insubordinate, acid-tongued woman I have ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

            She stepped up, glaring at him. “Well, you’re the most entitled bag of dicks I’ve ever had the ill luck to cross paths with, Maxson.”

            His blue eyes blazed. “And I thought your cousin was bad enough but at least she has some respect for me.”

            “Cait has to do what you tell her. I, on the other hand, don’t have that problem.”

            “I could have you thrown out of Brotherhood territory,” he hissed.

            “Not without losing the best source of whiskey in the Commonwealth, you can’t.” If she leaned forward a bit, she could kiss him – and then she wondered why that thought occurred to her.

            His nostrils flared. “It’s not that good.”

            “Only because you have shit taste in booze.” She glared up at him. This was the closest she’d ever been to the bastard.

            Something bad might have happened. But Paladin Danse and Cait walked in.

            “Do ye need a room?” the latter asked with a grin.

            Maxson turned his dour glare onto her cousin. “Do you want to clean the mole rat cages again, Knight?”

            She lowered her eyes – wisely. Maxson could make her life hell.

            “Still, I imagine it smells better than the distillery,” the Elder added snidely.

            Gealbhan clenched her fists, reminding herself that punching Maxson would be a very bad idea. However tempting. “It certainly smells better than your cologne,” she said with a sweet smile.

            Maxson’s mouth actually peeled into a snarl and he looked ready to say something nasty. But instead he smoothed his features into his typical scowl and stalked out without saying a word.

            Danse sighed and looked at her reproachfully. “You should be politer to the Elder. He’s under stresses you can’t imagine.”

            “He’s a conceited, spoiled ass and you have my sympathies for having to live with him,” Gealbhan retorted. “Now, what did you want to drink?”

…

If Danse and Cait hadn’t arrived when they did, Arthur would have grabbed that infuriatingly stubborn female and whispered what they had done on that corner stool, just to see the expression on her face. If he didn’t want to kill her these days, he wanted to fuck her until she screamed his name for all the Commonwealth to hear.

            Knowing how fucking sweet she was, how hot and wet and tight, was almost as painful as the erection that strained his uniform beneath his fastened battlecoat whenever he saw her now.

            Part of him wanted to have her thrown out of the Brotherhood’s territory. The rest of him wanted to plan a campaign that would end with her in his bed, another victory to add to the dozen or so he’d racked up since entering battle.

            Arthur snarled and forced Gealbhan from his mind. He was the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel. He would not be bothered by some Vault Dweller’s low opinion of him.

            Two weeks after their fight, he returned to complete the inspection of her distillery. He had to concede she knew what she was doing on the whiskey front, as painful as it was to do so. He still made disparaging comments about her alcohol because she always had some choice phrase for him. After all, she’d been swearing when he walked in the last time.

            She was hauling crates, slender body straining at the weight, and her Mr Handy followed her anxiously. “Mum, is this sort of thing wise in your delicate condition?” Codsworth asked.

            “I can do it,” she snapped at the robot, whose round oculars drooped in sorrow. The damn thing had more personality than some of his senior staff.

            Then Codsworth’s implication sunk in. And the reason for her recent surge of anger became clear to him.

            She knew. She knew because he’d finished in her and now she was pregnant. Women got emotional during pregnancy, right?

            Arthur stared at her, taking in the subtle softening of her body beneath the close-fitting green shirt and jeans she usually wore, the dark circles from exhaustion around her eyes. Then his fists clenched.

            If she was carrying his child, she would be taken up to the Prydwen for the protection of her and the babe. He would swallow his temper and do his best by her so they could make a reasonable decision together.

            He strode forward and pulled the crate from her startled hands. “Where does this go?” he asked through gritted teeth.

            “Up your ass,” she snapped. “I can carry it?”

            “You couldn’t carry something this heavy even if you weren’t pregnant,” he told her bluntly. “When we’re done here, you’re going up to Knight-Captain Cade for a check-up.”

            “Fuck off, Maxson,” Gealbhan told him. “Just because one of your precious soldiers fathered the child doesn’t make you my lord and master.”

            He set the crate on the counter as it rattled with glass. “Who’s the father?”

            The thought of her moaning on the cock of another Brotherhood soldier infuriated him.

            She bit her bottom lip, looking uncertain. “I don’t know. It was a one-night thing.”

            “Do you know what he looked like?” He struggled to keep his voice even.

            “It was dark.” A wicked smirk crossed her lovely face. “He wore sunglasses though. And was good with his fingers.”

            Arthur’s mouth tightened. “You need to do a DNA test. The soldier deserves to know he has sired a child.”

            “And then what?” she asked acidly. “You’ll take my babe to make into one of your-“

            There was an echo of old pain in her voice as she cut off the sentence. Arthur flinched at the assumption he would the child from her.

            “You two will make the decision together,” he finally said, trying to soften his tone. “We don’t take children from their mothers unless they are eminently unsuitable, and while you are a flaming bitch at times, I don’t think you would make for a bad parent.”

            Her face twisted with anguish. “I was married pre-War, you know. I lost my husband to the bombs – he’d gone out to do a quick errand before a meeting we had – and my son died in the Vault.”

            Gealbhan’s hands went to her belly. “I will raise my child the best I can, with or without the father. But I won’t lose this one.”

            _You won’t,_ Arthur promised. He may not be able to stand the woman, but he wouldn’t take her child. Just as, if it was his, he would be a presence in its life whether she liked it or not.

…

Gealbhan approached Knight-Captain Cade on her own. She didn’t need Maxson around for this, not with his insufferable arrogance and tendency to take over things.

            The DNA test was done quickly and she had to wait a few hours. Cade offered her some hubflower tea, saying it was good for nausea. She declined. Hubflower tea tasted like shit.

            Maxson kept on walking by and looking in. Gealbhan glared at him until he went away. Just because he was lord and master of this airship didn’t mean he was the lord and master of her.

            The test results were brought back personally by a black-haired, amber-skinned Scribe who handed them over to Cade with a frown at Gealbhan. “You don’t look his type,” she observed.

            Cade looked at the papers, looked at Gealbhan, and murmured a very fervent prayer under his breath in Latin. “Can you please go and get the father?” he asked the Scribe. “And possibly a bottle of whiskey.”

            She raised an eyebrow and vanished. Cade looked at Gealbhan. “Could you, ah, tell me how you met the father?”

            “I didn’t get his name because he was too busy fucking me on a stool in my pub,” Gealbhan responded acidly. “I don’t suppose you’ll enlighten me as to it before he arrives?”

            The doctor shook his head. “No. Some things are better told in front of the parties involved. All of them.”

            The Scribe came back… and Maxson was with her. And the man’s attitude towards her once he realised she was pregnant became crystal clear.

            “The confirmation,” Cade said shortly, handing over the papers.

            Maxson read through them, a muscle twitching under his bearded jaw, before he nodded. “Have a room made up for her. She doesn’t leave the Prydwen until she gives birth. I will not have my heir and its mother put in danger.”

            Gealbhan surged to her feet despite her weariness, all of the anger and frustration of knowing that smug bastard was fully aware of being the one she fucked channelled into the neat right hook she delivered to that arrogant chin. Maxson’s head snapped back, his eyes glazed over and he dropped to the ground in an unconscious heap of brown leather and black uniform.

            “I’ve wanted to do that since I met the prick,” she announced cheerfully as she rubbed her bruised knuckles.

            Cade leaned over and peeled back an eyelid. “He’ll awaken in a few hours,” the Knight-Captain said. “Neriah, did you get that bottle of whiskey? I think the command staff is going to need it.”

            “I’ll get two,” the Scribe said dryly. “Both of them Killian in honour of the mother to be.”

            “And get the command staff. This is going to be… awkward.” Cade sighed and looked at Gealbhan once Neriah left. “How did you _not_ know it was Elder Maxson?”

            “It was dark. He wore sunglasses. He was sitting on my favourite stool,” she responded curtly. “And to think I actually enjoyed myself.”

            Danse walked into the infirmary. “Neriah just told me- Why is Elder Maxson unconscious on the floor?”

            The big man hefted the Elder and put him on a gurney. Gealbhan would have left him there.

            “Because Lady Killian here responded to the news that they’d had anonymous intercourse with each other and conceived a child with one of the best right hooks I’ve ever seen,” Cade answered blandly.

            Danse blinked twice. Then he muttered something about owing Cait caps.

            The other senior staff of the Brotherhood, most of whom had frequented An Baile Eile more than once, arrived at the infirmary with various expressions of disbelief on their faces. Neriah handed out shots of whiskey for everyone except Gealbhan. She wasn’t offended at that. Her baby’s health was important.

            Even if she wanted to punch its father’s balls on principle. Repeatedly.

            An awkward silence ensued once the whiskey was drunk until Maxson woke up with a groan. The Knight-Captain jabbed a stimpak in to heal the bruise and lingering headache.

            “Congratulations on the news of your heir,” the lanky, long-faced man Gealbhan actually didn’t know said with great aplomb.

            “Thank you,” Maxson groaned. “I see you’ve already toasted it.”

            “Actually, that was to deal with the news,” Proctor Teagan said with a smirk. “Always said hate sex was the best kind.”

            Gealbhan privately vowed to make certain he never got a shot of her whiskey again.

            “It was _not_ hate sex,” Arthur rasped. “Please return to your duties. The mother of my heir and I need to have a discussion.”

            He sat up, rubbing his chin gingerly, and looked at Gealbhan significantly. “Alone. In my quarters.”

            “If you think I’m going to fuck you again, Maxson, you’ve got another thing coming,” she said bitterly. “You knew it was me, didn’t you?”

            “Not until you twisted your hair up,” he said softly. “I decided not to say anything because I thought you knew.”

            She looked away from the flicker of emotion in those blue eyes. “You should have said something when you realised I was pregnant.”

            “Yes. And this discussion can continue in my quarters.” Maxson’s voice was flat.

            She pushed her way past Lancer-Captain Kells and Proctor Ingram. Once they were alone, she was going to have plenty to say.


	3. Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Trigger warning for mentions of child soldiers. Honestly, I think both characters in this are on the shitty side to some extent. Have some smut with slightly rough sex.

Arthur closed the door to his quarters and sighed, preparing himself for the onslaught. He should have told Gealbhan the soldier was him. It might have warmed her towards him. He might have been able to able to coax her attitude into a better one. They could have spent most of his inspections fucking, not fighting. Even now, knowing that she was incandescent with rage as only an Irish clanswoman could be, he felt the familiar surge of arousal in her presence.

            The Elder rubbed his chin in remembered pain as Gealbhan paced around his inner sanctum. It was spartan, he knew, but the bed was twice the size of everyone else’s, he had actual sheets and several blankets, the top one fur from a Yao Guai he’d killed, and the pillows weren’t straw. Arthur had given orders for a room to be prepared for the mother of his heir, but he wanted her in that bed where he could protect her and provide her with pleasure.

            He was the Elder of the East Coast Brotherhood of Steel. The man who had forged a fractured army into one unit once more. The man who even the Lost Hills Elders conceded had more charisma than nearly anyone else in the order. A master tactician and diplomat as well as a warrior. He could win Gealbhan over as he had Casdin and the Outcasts.

            “I thought you’d realised it was me as I had that it was you,” he rasped into the ominous silence, injecting every bit of sincerity he possessed into the words. “I thought you had no wish to acknowledge it because in the beginning, I had no desire to.”

            Gealbhan’s body was so rigid that he was worried she might harm herself. Or launch another punch. He should have realised that Knight Cait’s cousin would have a mean right hook.

            “I should have told you I might be the father once I realised you were pregnant,” he continued softly.

            “You’ve been the only person I fucked in two months,” she said flatly.

            “How was I to know that?” he countered. “We’re not exactly friends.”

            “I _hate_ you,” she hissed. “You’re arrogant, entitled, self-centred…”

            “And you’re a pre-War survivor who doesn’t even have the decency to record her history for posterity!” he snapped. “You know so much. You could help the Scribes figure out mysteries from before the bombs fell.”

            Her chin lifted. “Some things are better buried, Maxson. The only difference between now and then is that then had a pretty coat of paint on it.”

            Her tone implied that she preferred the Wasteland to the pre-War world. That was… troubling.

            “We don’t know that,” he coaxed. “Gealbhan, we must at least learn to live with each other. We’ve made a child together.”

            “You want to lock me up on your fucking airship!”

            “Because we’re at war with the Institute. Because just by being a Maxson, I have enemies that will use our child as a weapon against me. Because there are those who would control a Maxson, no matter what, and the easiest way to do that will be to raise one of their own.” He stared into those beautiful brown eyes earnestly. “You’re not the mother of my heir that I would have chosen. But you’re the one I have. So letting you be put in harm’s way is unacceptable.”

            “What about my pub?”

            Arthur knew when to compromise. “You will be permitted to tend it under the guard of Paladin Danse and your cousin. But you sleep on the Prydwen and whenever you leave, even just to the Airport, you will be accompanied by at least two guards.”

            Her jaw tensed. “Fine.”

            “Thank you.” Judging by her expression, him showing gratitude was a surprise. Did she really think that poorly of him?

            “You’re welcome,” she replied ungraciously. “Can I go now?”

            “So long as you don’t leave the Prydwen, yes. I want to have a meal with you every day so that we get to know each other.” Arthur smiled as the storm clouds gathered once more on her fine-boned features. “I will see you at dinner.”

…

“Ye and Maxson? I called it. I fucking called it!”

            “Yes, Cait, we know. Half the Prydwen knows.” Danse tilted the bottle of Nuka Cola back to get the last mouthful. “And the other half will know at dinner.”

            Gealbhan’s cousin smirked as she leaned against the wall. “So, all them inspections and that yelling-“

            “Was very much true,” Gealbhan said sourly. “He was incognito when I screwed him.”

            “Or maybe he was himself when he didn’t have to act the big bad wolf,” Cait observed. “Half that puffing of the chest and the strutting about is a show, Geallie. He’s got to be the boss because half the crew’s older than him.”

            The brawler could be perceptive when she set her mind to it. Gealbhan had reluctantly come to the conclusion that she needed to lose the grudge for the sake of her unborn child. Maxson wasn’t going anywhere and if she was to have any say in the future of his heir, she’d need to stop sharpening her tongue on his hide.

            “Arthur had no choice but to take command,” Danse said with a sigh. “The East Coast Brotherhood was in shambles after the Lyons died. The Elders between Sarah Lyons and Arthur were ineffectual at best, downright dangerous at worst. The Outcasts were draining us of much needed manpower. Raiders were getting the guts to attack us.”

            “Sounds bleak,” Gealbhan said.

            “Bleak doesn’t begin to describe it. Arthur had to lead troops by the age of fourteen, kill a super mutant leader called the Shepherd at fifteen, and persuade the Outcasts back into the fold by sixteen.” Danse regarded her soberly. “He _is_ an arrogant, autocratic pain in the ass at times. But without that self-confidence and command, we would not be here. The Prydwen would not exist. And neither would An Baile Eile.”

            The Paladin’s words struck home and Gealbhan looked down, unable to meet his eyes. She and Maxson had more in common than she thought – who’d quit college after her mother died because her father was too shattered to handle both his military duties and that of the clan, after all?

            “Ye go and talk to him, Geallie,” Cait suggested. “As entertaining as the flyting is, ye’re stuck with each other.”

            “Fine.” She got to her feet and walked out of Danse’s quarters. She hated it when people were right. It was almost dinner time anyway.

            Maxson had just showered, judging by the dripping nudity displayed when she entered his bedroom without bothering to knock. Her eyes followed a particular droplet that trickled down his pecs and a washboard stomach to the patch of trimmed hair around his heavy, potent cock and please-suck-me balls that made her lick suddenly dry lips.

            He was an ass but he was a good-looking man. Judging by the lazy smirk that crossed his scarred features, he knew she liked what he saw.

            “You _may_ have some reason to be an arrogant prick,” she said, closing the door behind her. “But it doesn’t mean I’m going to salute and take orders like your soldiers. I’m not Brotherhood.”

            “I’d be disappointed if you did, unless it’s a situation where orders are required – like an emergency – and not following them would jeopardise others,” he rasped.

            “I can be reasonable,” she conceded, not bothering to be gracious. He’d just gloat over the victory if she sounded conciliatory and humbled.

            “I’m sure.” His lips curved in a slight smile. “Would you like a shower? I’m sure we can find something to fit you until your clothing can be brought up here.”

            Gealbhan arched an eyebrow. “You’re letting me use your private shower?”

            His sky-blue eyes darkened. “The mother of my heir sharing a shower with anyone but me is unacceptable.”

            There was no mistaking the possessive growl. Gealbhan remembered Nate being the same way during their long ago marriage. Of course, they’d wed to unite their crime clans. Maxson wouldn’t likely marry her. Not when his control over the Brotherhood was still fractious, if the conversations in her pub were anything to go by.

            “Will our child still be your heir if you marry someone else?” she asked, changing the subject when a grim thought occurred to her. “I know your Brotherhood’s more fractured than you let on.”

            He blinked, regarding her harshly. “What would an Irish clanswoman know about the Brotherhood?”

            “Because the clans, from what Cait’s told me, are descended from the Irish crime clans that controlled much of the organised crime in Massachusetts down through the north of what you call the Capital Wasteland and we called Virginia,” she answered. “Before the bombs fell, I was a leader in one of them – the Killians, who specialised in illegal alcohol and civilian goods – who married into the Finlays, a crime clan that were smugglers from New York. My father Frances had married a Boston Brahmin – an Ahern, from an old family that could trace their ancestry to roughly a hundred years before the American Revolution – to get military and governmental connections that would let us survive the chaos of the Resource Wars.”

            Maxson’s eyes widened, seeing her in a new light. Then they narrowed. “What have you seen and heard?”

            “Rumblings of discontent. Old grudges. There are those who feel you’re a bit too much like the Lyons, though I don’t understand the context.”

            “Keep listening. That whiskey of yours erodes discipline more than I like but I need to know if it’s just grumbling or the prelude to more.” Maxson’s expression was hard. “Bastardry, as it was defined in the pre-War years, doesn’t exist in the Brotherhood. The child in your belly, whether we like it or not, is my heir even before any child I should produce in a later relationship.”

            “That’s good to know,” Gealbhan replied. “Though-“

            “And I expect you to comport yourself as my consort,” he rasped darkly. “That means no flirting. No overfamiliarity with any of my soldiers. I will not have the parentage of our child called into doubt by anyone.”

            The possessive growl was back in his voice. “Didn’t like the thought I might have fucked someone else from the Brotherhood?” she asked, perhaps a little tauntingly.

            “I don’t share my quarters. I don’t share my bourbon. And I sure as hell won’t share you,” Maxson growled. “If you feel the need for pleasure, I am more than capable of meeting it. You must concede that.”

            Gealbhan lifted her chin defiantly. “I don’t know. I was pretty lonely and horny that day.”

            His mouth peeled back in something that was between a snarl and a smile. “Take your clothing off and I’ll prove that it wasn’t a onetime thing.”

            The challenge aroused her. Damn him, he knew which buttons to press. So she began to unbutton her shirt, watching his eyes darken with lust, and wondered just who held the power in this situation.

…

Gealbhan took her sweet time removing her clothing, as if the rags she wore were somehow worth conserving. Arthur would need to find a more appropriate wardrobe for her. Maybe he’d let her keep that floral dress of hers. He was fond of it.

            She knew what burned him to the bone. The thought of another Brotherhood soldier laying hands on her, putting his cock inside her, filling her belly with his seed infuriated him almost to the point of violence. He couldn’t stand the woman but damned if he could stand the thought of someone like Teagan – who made no secret of his fancying Gealbhan – having her either.

            Arthur toyed with his cock, feeling it harden as he saw the clanswoman minus her clothing for the first time. The small breasts were soft and a little saggy, her belly wrinkled from previous childbearing, her hips round and dimpled. Like Cait, most of her height was in the legs, and despite twelve generations between the two women he could see the familial resemblance in the shape of her body. “Take your hair down,” he commanded.

            She obeyed, the reddish-brown strands falling around her narrow shoulders, and he followed the tumble of it down to the darker auburn hair that already glistened with moisture. However she felt about him personally, there was desire between them. “Like what you see?” she taunted.

            “Yes,” he growled. She deserved that much concession. “Every inspection of your distillery I made, I was thinking of you bent over the counter with your tits in my hands and my cock in your cunt. I came back to the Prydwen so fucking hard that I had to wank before attending to any other business.”

            He watched her brown eyes dilate and grinned mirthlessly. He recalled her penchant for dirty talking. This was a campaign he’d win for more than just the sake of fucking her. She understood the situation in the Brotherhood better than most of his command staff and if ‘crime clan’ implied anything, she might just be subtle and ruthless enough to protect their child if he fell in battle. By nature, he was a forthright and linear man, prone to taking the most direct route in achieving his desires. Having someone by his side who could see into the shadows cast by the glare of his name and reputation would be… useful.

            “Prove it,” she challenged.

            Arthur strode up to her, took her face into his hands and kissed her until they both needed to catch their breath. Her nails dug into his ass, bringing his cock up against her belly, and he transferred his mouth to her neck, sucking until a mark was left. The moan she made was obscene and he chuckled in satisfaction.

            He walked forward, backing her up until she was at the foot of his bed. She would look beautiful against the Yao Guai fur.

            Then her eyes glinted just before she knelt and took his cock into her mouth. The heat and suction took all control from Arthur, forcing him to thrust helplessly amidst a litany of curses and praises. She was good. Amazingly good. He was going to die-

            Gealbhan removed his cock just as he was on the verge of climax, earning a savage curse. “Like that?” she chuckled.

            Arthur growled, “Get on the fucking bed.”

            With a twitch of her hips she obeyed. Even without words, that woman could get under his skin.

            Another day, he would eat her out until she screamed. But today, he settled himself between her legs, arms hooked under her knees to bring them up for easy access, and sheathed himself in one smooth thrust. Gealbhan was as tight and hot and wet as he recalled and in the light of his bedroom, he could see her face contort with pleasure.

            She dragged her nails down his arms and he grunted. Then he began to thrust urgently, drawing moans and a stream of words in Latin that would have had Quinlan drop dead in shock. Arthur simply grinned and kept up the steady pace. He would see her orgasm before he did.

            She muffled her cry in the side of his neck as her inner walls tightened, milking him a moment before he was ready. Arthur swore as his hips stuttered twice and stopped, leaving him sweaty and in need of another shower – one she would share with him.

            “Why did it have to be you?” she panted, eyes flashing.

            “I was thinking the same thing,” he retorted. “But like it or not, we’re stuck together.”

            “Fuck you, Maxson.”

            “My pleasure.” He kissed her again. The shower could wait a few more minutes.


	4. Conflict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warnings for mentions of death, misogyny, violence, fantastic racism and possessive behaviour. I’m really sorry, but this is gonna be an ugly story. Neither Gealbhan nor Arthur are particularly nice people in this tale.

There was no love or even friendship in their fucking, Gealbhan mused as Maxson bent her over the counter in her pub and, as he’d fantasised about, had his cock in her cunt and her tits in his hands. There was pleasure, she’d admit, but if they weren’t fucking they were bickering. Something about the Elder rubbed her the wrong way and she heartily wished that she’d fucked someone else in the Brotherhood. Someone like Danse, perhaps – he was a lovely man without a hint of Maxson’s arrogance.

            Of course, if she so much as smiled in the Sentinel’s direction, Maxson would send him to the lousiest post the Commonwealth had to offer. The Elder had made it abundantly clear while she was pregnant with his heir, she belonged to him – which only made her want to kick him in the balls some more.

            Finally he climaxed, his fingers rolling her clit expertly, and Gealbhan followed in his wake. It was almost time to open up for the evening trade and Deacon was off doing whatever he did on his nights off. She suspected criminal activity – and so long as it didn’t impact her pub, she didn’t give a damn what he did.

            She detached herself from Maxson and went to the shower to clean herself up. The sex was great but now… she was regretting it. She liked the Brotherhood to a certain extent, she certainly appreciated the business and protection they brought, but it felt like she was living in pre-War America again. That didn’t feel good.

            Maxson certainly considered himself the only authority on what was right and wrong. That wasn’t just bad, it was downright fucking terrifying. And because of a bad choice one night, she was stuck right in the middle of it.

            “You never seem happy around me,” Maxson noted once she emerged from the shower.

            “Because you’re an ass,” she pointed out. “An autocratic, arrogant shithead who just happened to knock me up because of poor life choices on both our parts.”

            His blue eyes darkened. “There are women in the Brotherhood who would kill to be the mother of a Maxson heir.”

            “And I’m not part of the Brotherhood and never will be,” Gealbhan retorted.

            Maxson frowned. “If you think I’m letting you leave with my child-“

            “Our child. And I’m not going anywhere. But you’re not turning our child into a little toy soldier like your parents did with you.” She turned away and reached for the floral dress she’d worn when she’d fucked him on the stool.

            “Not that dress,” he growled. “No one sees you in that dress but me.”

            “You know what, Maxson? Fuck you. Get out of my pub.” Gealbhan pointed at the door. “I’ve agreed to stay on the Prydwen and act like I’m your fucking betrothed bride, but I’ll be damned if you tell me what I can and can’t wear.”

            His fists clenched and she rose on the balls of her feet in a classic street-fighting stance. He was stronger and tougher than her but she was a match for him in speed.

            “I will leave when Danse arrives,” Maxson said harshly.

            “Fine. Now make yourself useful and unstack the chairs.” She grabbed the pink cotton dress, not the floral one. It sucked to give way to him but at the moment, she was in a precarious position.

            Maxson stalked away as she dressed. God above but she regretted ever going up for that paternity test. She should have let it remain a mystery.

            Except he already knew. And would have dragged her up there anyways.

            Sparrow swore softly in Irish. This situation was a fucking mess.

…

Unbeknownst to the Vault Dweller, Deacon himself was saying some of the same words as he guided H2-22 through the late afternoon crowd of East City Downs. The synth looked around with wide scared eyes, the amount of Brotherhood orange alarming to them both, and the Railroad agent regretted choosing this route so close to his regular job. But who’d expect the third in command of the abolitionist organisation to work at the Brotherhood’s favourite pub?

            Maxson himself strode out of An Baile Eile, an ugly scowl on his face, and Deacon hid a smirk. The Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel was a bigoted asshole and just by dint of existence, Gealbhan Killian was a pain in his ass. There were some interesting rumours going around that the duo had fucked – he’d need to look into it. Hate sex could be some of the best kind and God knew Gealbhan liked herself the soldier boys, according to her cousin Cait.

            “Deacon!” Of course, Sentinel Danse had to greet him. “I thought it was your day off?”

            “It is,” Deacon responded, smiling at the big dark-haired guy. The tragic thing about the Brotherhood was that a lot of its soldiers were good people who bought into its genocidal line of bullshit. “Me and my cousin were just passing through.”

            The Sentinel’s mouth tightened. “Could you spare an hour or so to speak to Gealbhan? She needs to stop antagonising Maxson.”

            “I need to rest,” H2-22 said softly. “Please.”

            Deacon swore inwardly but nodded to Danse. “How about you go rustle up some Brahmin steaks, big guy? If I eat another bit of radstag…”

            Danse nodded. “Can do. Just… don’t do anything improper. It’s a complicated situation.”

            Now this might just be worth the stop. “Okay.”

            Inside the pub, Gealbhan was mopping the floor and Deacon noticed that she was practically glowing with a bit of plumpness to her slender frame. H2-22 looked around curiously and the Railroad agent prayed he wouldn’t say anything to betray his Institute origins.

            “I thought it was your day off,” his employer observed, rubbing the small of her back.

            “I thought you and Maxson hated each other,” Deacon countered.

            Gealbhan grimaced. “One bad choice and now he’s treating me like his property because I’m pregnant with a precious Maxson heir.”

            “Shit.” Deacon meant that word on so many levels. “So, uh, Danse told me to tell you to stop antagonising Maxson.”

            “Of course he did.” Gealbhan thumped the mop against the concrete floor. “We all must bow to his Royal fucking Majesty Arthur fucking Maxson, First of his fucking name!”

            “Umm… Can I please have a seat?” H2 asked nervously.

            Gealbhan looked at him in surprise. “It’s a pub. We’re open. Of course.”

            The synth took a seat at the bar, examining the bottles lined up on the shelves, as Gealbhan laid aside the mop to serve him. Deacon sat next to him, biting this lip. This could be awkward. “Can we have a couple of beers?” he asked.

            “What’s beer?” H2 hissed.

            “Alcohol,” Deacon muttered. “Now just have a drink. We need to wait a bit before leaving.”

            Gealbhan folded her arms, not reaching for the Gwinett Pale Ale she served as house beer. “What’s going on, Deacon?”

            The agent winced. “Look, I don’t want to put you in a bad spot. We’ll just… go.”

            “I’m already in a bad spot,” the Irish clanswoman pointed out. “You couldn’t make it any worse.”

            “I’m a synth and he’s helping me escape,” H2 answered. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

            Gealbhan’s jaw dropped. “You mean that claptrap about the Institute’s _true_?”

            “Yes,” Deacon admitted through gritted teeth. Dammit, he’d have to disappear and change his face-

            Something hard glittered in Gealbhan’s eyes. “Alright. Deacon, this is your cousin Kieran. He’s from Breakheart Banks, that settlement which got overrun by super mutants a few months ago. You’ve brought him by because he’s got an interest in moonshining.”

            H2 stared at her. “You’re willing to help me?”

            “Don’t mistake this for kindness. I’m doing this because I want to piss off Maxson,” Gealbhan responded flatly. “He wants to kill you, your friends and the people who made you as abominations of technology.”

            The synth lowered his eyes. “I just want to be left alone.”

            “So do most people.” Gealbhan slid over a couple beers. “We’ll talk later.”

            They sure would. Deacon might just have found a new ally for the Railroad – if she was willing to help synths, even if it was because she hated Maxson, it could only help the organisation.

            Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

…

Gealbhan bloomed over the next few months, her belly and feet swelling, yet she refused to give up the pub work and come to the Prydwen where she’d be safe. In fact, every time Arthur suggested it, the clanswoman would tell him to fuck off. What was her problem? He was treating her as he would a proper consort, giving her protection and position, and she seemed to resent him all the more.

            At least Cade reported good news: the Maxson bloodline would thicken as she was carrying twins. Her fertility was extraordinary and Arthur realised he had no intention of letting her go. Despite their issues, they had chemistry in bed, and she’d already pinpointed some potential grumblings that he set Cait and Danse to defuse. With the war against the Institute quickening, he couldn’t have internal division in the ranks.

            “We need to find the Railroad and cut them out like the tumour they are,” Lancer-Captain Kells said during a progress meeting.

            “The Railroad are a symptom of the disease that is the Institute,” Quinlan noted, petting Emmett. “Surely they can wait.”

            “We need a victory,” the Lancer-Captain said grimly. “The Commonwealth civilians are beginning to doubt our presence here despite the benefits we bring. We haven’t pinpointed the exact location of the Institute yet but we have a better than even chance of finding the Railroad. If we wipe them out…”

            “We prove that synths and their supporters won’t be tolerated,” Arthur agreed. Perhaps that was Gealbhan’s issue – she’d openly doubted the existence of the Institute before and was sceptical about Gen-3 synths. From anyone else, it would have earned them a few days in the brig, but he was willing to forgive a certain amount of insubordinate behaviour from a pregnant woman. Cade had told him she was emotional from the hormones after all.

            “Precisely.” Kells smiled thinly. “Do I have your permission to proceed?”

            “Do so.”

            Arthur returned to the command deck and looked over the twilight skyline of Boston. He had to stay away from An Baile Eile during the night because Deacon, Gealbhan’s main bartender, was even worse than she when it came to attitude problems. That woman had no idea just how much he let her staff get away with.

            _I’ll take her back to the Citadel,_ he decided as he heard her familiar footsteps. _When she realises that she’ll live like a queen, she won’t miss the Commonwealth one bit._

“Join me,” he said aloud.

            He heard her sigh. “Why?”

            Arthur turned to face her. “Because I want you to.”

            Gealbhan folded her arms. “I’m not your property, Maxson.”

            He growled in frustration. “You’re not my property. You’re my consort. They are two different things.”

            “Not to me when you’ve apparently decided my life for me without any input,” the clanswoman retorted. “ _I don’t like you_ , Maxson. If I hadn’t fallen pregnant with your children, I wouldn’t have had anything to do with you that wasn’t business. I regret ever fucking you in the first place. How much more bloody clear do I have to make it?”

            Arthur actually snarled. “You ungrateful bitch. I raise you from the muck and still you spit on me. Very well, if you want nothing to do with me, I will leave with the twins once they’re born. You can return to your pub and sling drinks for the rest of your short, miserable life for all I fucking care.”

            “You didn’t even have the decency to tell me you might be the father of my child when you realised I was pregnant,” Gealbhan countered. “You can’t even handle the thought that someone might call you out on your behaviour, Maxson. This isn’t the Capital Wasteland, where everyone bows to you as king. This is the Commonwealth, where the fight for America’s freedom began.”

            “I am fighting for your freedom!” he hissed, not wanting everyone to know he was fighting with her again. “The Institute could kidnap you and see you replaced with a Gen-3 synth! I’m protecting you and yours… and you don’t even have the decency to show some fucking gratitude.”

            “All I’m seeing is a man whose soldiers are terrifying civilians more than they already are,” she answered grimly. “I see a man who cannot possibly understand the meaning of compromise. I see a man who thinks himself the be-all and end-all of the universe.”

            “If it wasn’t for me, your precious pub wouldn’t exist,” Arthur reminded her.

            “It would have. Just not in East City Downs,” Gealbhan countered coolly. “I was making plans before you ever arrived, Maxson.”

            “My name is Arthur. Though you should address me as Elder,” he told her flintily. “I have tolerated more than I possibly should have from you, Gealbhan. That ends now.”

            He turned from her. “You’re confined to the Prydwen. I will not let my children’s safety be threatened by your idiocy. If you still want to leave once they’re born, you will be doing so without-“

            The slamming of the main deck door indicated that she’d walked out before he’d even finished his tirade. His fists clenched angrily at the blatant disrespect.

            He needed to prove himself by the destruction of the Railroad. That would show both the Commonwealth and the Institute he was serious.

            Then surely Gealbhan would realise that her behaviour was wrong. He wasn’t asking for love from the woman, only recognition that he was right. He could settle for that.

            But if she disobeyed him, she would regret the consequences.


	5. Conflagration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death (involving that of minors), violence, misogyny and fantastic racism. Yes, this story has been inspired in part by tess1978’s ‘Fire in the Sky’. Please don't hate me - this couldn't end well, not with assholes like this.

“We’ll move on the Railroad in the morning.”

            Lancer-Captain Kells’ words stopped Gealbhan in her tracks. In the months since she’d impulsively given H2-22 shelter, she’d become an ally of the Railroad after hearing what the lives of synths were like under the Institute’s sway. And Maxson, Danse and even her cousin Cait wanted to wipe out essentially innocent people – and those who were helping them.

            Unfortunately, she was trapped on the Prydwen thanks to Maxson’s edict. She shouldn’t have provoked him like that – but his threat to take away her children had torn away the last bit of civility she could find for him. This was the Commonwealth, not the Capital Wasteland, and it was high time that the Brotherhood learned that.

            So for the next few hours, she played nice and apologised to Maxson, blaming her hormones and the fear she had for her children. The smug look on his face was nauseating and only reinforced her utter hatred of the man. Why did Cait have to get mixed up with such a crowd? If she warned the Railroad, she’d be betraying her cousin too.

            Most of the Brotherhood – and Maxson – was asleep when she left his quarters, ostensibly for a midnight snack. She grabbed a handful of tarberries from the mess hall and made her way into the main deck, studying the power armour stands thoughtfully. It was deserted as Ingram only worked days and the squad assigned to wiping out the Railroad were already at Cambridge Station. Cait and Danse were amongst them.

            Thank the Lord above that the power armour was made for a bulky man. In a fit of bitter pique she opened and climbed into Maxson’s, trusting that the dim light would mean none would notice the insignia. Deacon had told her to follow the Freedom Trail if she needed help, but only in the direst need.

            Well, there were a bunch of innocent people who needed her help, people made as slaves. Gealbhan had turned a blind eye to genocide in her pre-War days. Now, she couldn’t. Not when Deacon and H2 trusted her so readily.

            The eyes of the night-duty Lancers were so used to power-armoured Paladins stalking by that they didn’t notice her as she climbed onto the command deck. It was hard work piloting power armour when she was pregnant but she had no choice. If she didn’t escape and warn the Railroad, people would die and she’d lose her children.

            Only one Lancer on the flight deck challenged her. With a desperate heave, Gealbhan shoved him off the deck and into the waters below. As the sound of the splash echoed upwards, she prayed Nate had been right about the shock absorption of these things and jumped off herself.

            She landed in the harbour and waded desperately through the pitch-black waters as klaxons began to sound. Once she got to shore, she’d need to lose the power armour and make her way to the Old North Church. God, she hoped she had enough time.

…

Of all the people to walk into HQ, Gealbhan was fairly low on Deacon’s list. The clanswoman had proven to be a pretty staunch ally despite her being pinned down by Maxson’s orders. So her presence at the Old North Church-

            “Who the hell is she?” Desdemona demanded.

            “She’s the one who helped me and H2,” Deacon replied before turning to the Irish woman. “Why are you here?”

            “At dawn, Recon Squad Gladius and Strike Team Artemis are coming to wipe you out,” she reported, eyes red and weeping from exhaustion. “Maxson needs a victory to impress his supporters and the Commonwealth.”

            “How do you know this?” Carrington asked.

            “Because I’ve spent the last six months pregnant with Maxson’s twins,” she responded bitterly. “He’s threatening to take my children and if he knew I was helping the Railroad…”

            Desdemona swore viciously. “Alright, everyone. We’re falling back. PAM, Carrington and Drummer Boy will be the first to go. They know where. Deacon, Tom, we’re putting Red Rockets into motion. Glory and I will remain until last. Everyone else, you have your assignments.”

            The leader of the Railroad turned to Gealbhan. “Thanks for the warning – and for helping out. Your codename here is Clover, by the way.”

            Gealbhan nodded. “You’re welcome. I’m retreating across the river. There’s some people who owe me on that side.”

            “Good. If you run into the Minutemen, let them know what’s happening.” Desdemona turned away and began to issue more orders.

            Deacon looked at the clanswoman. “You know Cait might wind up dying because of this.”

            Her expression was bleak. “I know. A lot of people are going to be hurt because of a bad choice. But if Maxson succeeds, a lot more will die.”

            “Exactly.” Deacon sighed and squeezed the pregnant woman’s shoulder. “You better go. Tell Old Man Stockton in Bunker Hill that your Geiger counter’s in the shop. He’ll be able to get you into one of his caravans.”

            She nodded. “Good luck in whatever you do.”

            “Thanks. Stay safe. When this is over, I’ll buy you a drink.”

            Her smile was bleak. “I don’t think I’ll have a pub by the time this is over.”

            It would be the last time that Deacon ever saw her.

…

“What the hell?”

            Preston Garvey was watching the sun rise over the harbour when the Prydwen suddenly crashed into the sea. He’d been forced to work overtime to get the Minutemen back to a state that could possibly match the Brotherhood. They’d made no secret about wanting to purge the ghouls and synths of the Commonwealth alongside the ferals and the super mutants.

            Then the wave of vertibirds arose from the airport and to Preston’s horror, headed towards the Castle.

            “Artillery now!” the General commanded. “The Brotherhood are attacking us!”

            “Sons of radroaches!” Ronnie Shaw yelled as she ran for the main gun.

            It wasn’t much of a battle as he and Ronnie had planned for this day since they found the schematics for the artillery. The vertibirds were big fat bloatflies against the morning sky, easy pickings for master marksmen like the Minutemen. The Commonwealth was sick of their shit and whatever caused the Brotherhood’s airship to crash, it hadn’t been the citizen soldiers – yet still they were Maxson’s first target.

            There were a few survivors. One of them was Maxson.

            “What the hell is wrong with you?” Preston demanded as he stormed up to the heavily bleeding man. “We did nothing to you!”

            “You sent someone to blow up the Prydwen!” Maxson retorted.

            “We didn’t,” Preston said angrily. “You attacked first!”

            Maxson’s face abruptly paled. Then his blue eyes burned with rage. “The Railroad. That fucking Irish bitch!”

            “What’s the Railroad and an Irish woman got to do with this?” Ronnie demanded.

            “We were going to wipe out those synth-lovers this morning but an ungrateful Irish slut betrayed us,” Maxson hissed. “I would have-“

            “You were going to kill the only people helping the synths in the Commonwealth?” Preston asked slowly.

            “We’re here to obliterate the Institute and all its foul creations,” Maxson said. “They have no right to exist!”

            Preston sighed. He really wished that the Railroad had given him the heads up on this. He agreed with them in principle and even let them use a settlement as a safehouse but he was less than impressed to have been attacked by the Brotherhood. “They do. And we’ll deal with the Institute. But you and your friends are leaving the Commonwealth.”

            “Not until I have that bitch,” Maxson said flatly. “She has two things of mine that I intend to take from her cold corpse.”

            One of the other Brotherhood soldiers, a battered woman with red hair, coughed up blood. “Ye threatened to… take her babies… Elder. She’d have… not stood for it.”

            Preston had kept abreast of particular rumours and put two and two together. “You’re saying that Gealbhan Killian did all of this?”

            He recalled the Vault Dweller who’d set up her first still in Sanctuary nearly two and a half years ago – and wondered what went wrong. She hadn’t seemed like the sort of woman to orchestrate a war just to get back at a lover.

            Maxson’s eyes glittered with rage. “Yes. And I will burn the Commonwealth to the ground to find her and destroy the Institute.”

            If this was what Gealbhan had to live with…? Well, no wonder she turned to the Railroad. The clans held grudges and were bloody in their vengeance. He’d still have words with her though for setting up this conflict.

            “No,” Preston said firmly. “You leave… or you die.”

            “You dare? I’m here to save you!”

            The General cranked up his musket and pointed it at the Elder. “The Commonwealth can save itself.”

            Maxson struggled to his feet, hands pressed to his guts. “Sentinel Danse, sound the retreat! Tell the other Elders I…”

            He collapsed, expression incredulous, and a groan swept through the few remaining Brotherhood soldiers. They were leaderless now.

            The Irish woman who apparently knew Gealbhan Killian curled up in utter despair. “I’m sorry,” she wept.

            Danse, one of the few decent Brotherhood soldiers out there, helped her to her feet. “It’s not your fault. We have to retreat as per Elder Maxson’s last orders. But if we find your cousin…”

            “She’s a Killian. She won’t be found. And what she did was terrible, but Maxson put her back to the wall.” Her eyes were bleak as she looked at the Minutemen. “I hope ye can beat the Institute. Because without us, ye got no one else to stand by yer side.”

            Preston met that gaze without flinching. “The Minutemen aren’t helpless. You have free passage to the south. I advise you and your friends use it.”

            Danse nodded and turned away. What a damned shame and waste.

            The General watched the Brotherhood leave. So much damned death because of a tyrant’s pride and an Irish woman’s vengeance. But in its way, it was a Commonwealth story, and he already knew it would become a legend.

            These sorts of things always did.

…

She’d buried one name with the old world after it died in nuclear fire and treacherous ice.

            Now she buried another as the life she’d built in this world vanished in fire gold and blue.

            Unintended consequences because she, like Maxson, couldn’t compromise. But he’d treated her like property and she’d exacted vengeance knowing full well that the Minutemen would be dragged into the conflict. At least, according to rumour, her cousin and Sentinel Danse had survived – though they’d hunt her for what she’d done.

            H2-22, under the name Kieran, had the keys to An Baile Eile now. He and his fellow synths could live and make their own destiny as all sentient creatures could. They could make the Commonwealth a home without having to hide, she hoped.

            The Minutemen might just finally unite the Commonwealth under one banner. It was fitting that the home of American independence should be the birthplace of a new nation. It was a shame that she’d never get to experience it. But if she was good at one thing, it was running away from the consequences of her actions.

            There was no other home for her now in the land of her birth. But traders spoke of other spots of civilisation to the west and so, mounted on a Brahmin in a caravan owned by Old Man Stockton, she ventured in that direction. Just another Wastelander heavy with the children of a dead man.

            In her wake, the synths called her Liberator, the Brotherhood of Steel called her Traitor and the Minutemen called her Vengeance. But the legend of the Irish clanswoman who took down the last of the Maxsons and laid the groundwork for the Commonwealth Alliance of Settlements became one of the most popular stories in the region. In the west, she would never know this.

            But that was fine by her as her sons would write their own legends in their own names.


End file.
